


Total Damages

by ArtemisClydeFrogge



Series: Damages [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, Cuddling, F/M, Gen, Het, Knives, M/M, Mention of torture, Pack, Pack Feels, Pre-Slash, Puppy Piles, Scallison, Scissac., Slash, WAFF, berica, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisClydeFrogge/pseuds/ArtemisClydeFrogge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the dust settles, no one is certain how to handle the residual adrenaline- the fight or flight instinct that has till now determined everything. And then, are they so certain the dust has settled?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Season three if it were fluffy and made no god-damn sense. Minus Peter and the alpha pack.  
> Prequel to Global Damages.  
> I'm predicting about seven chapters, though that may go up or down.

A long time before he finds them cowering on the porch, Derek senses Erica and Boyd- returning and not without their tails tucked between their legs. After sending Isaac inside, he stands at the door, waiting for them. They stand together, shivering, clothing wrecked, and neither say anything nor make eye contact.

But the gesture of terrified subservience does nothing for him; he crosses and uncrosses his arms, takes a deep breath, and then lets out a low growl.

It isn't meant to be threatening, but it's too much for the returners, and Boyd takes a half-step in front of Erica, claws drawing and breath locking up in his lungs. The alpha takes another deep breath, and it ends in a humoring smile.

"It's okay. I understand," he says softly, almost gently, with resignation. "Please come back."

Never minding that they _are_ back, but Derek wants them to know that he _wants_ them, and not just to pad his pack and his wound-fresh alpha inheritance. He _wants_ them. Bone-deep aching is tugging him down to the earth; it has been entirely too long a day. Week, month, so on. There are too many heavy things in his mind- Scott and Stiles, for one, and Gerard Argent for another. Jackson. He realized with a start, that he wishes they were _all_ there. Scott and Stiles and Jackson and his young lady.

Erica peers from behind Boyd's large shoulder, eyes wet with relief. It's overwhelming, and it comes with a feeling. He felt it before, while Isaac had kept near and looked to him with intensity. Derek understood, suddenly, that the intensity had been _devotion_ , and the relief in Erica's lovely eyes is _devotion_ , and the tired, shameless droop in Boyd's shoulders is a confession of weakness that is coming, too, from devotion. It sweeps over him, the feeling, like a tangible thing, disturbing in its strength. He hears and feels Isaac creeping at the door frame, watching and anxious.

It's a dynamic he almost remembers; it is nothing like the ragtag mess that he had attempted to cultivate in the musty dimness of the train depot. It reminds him… of Mom. And Laura. With a grunt of disbelief, Derek lets himself sink to the creaking wood floor of the blackened porch.

Boyd and Erica fall to him, and Isaac slinks to them, head down, to curl against Derek's back, arms tucked in, cheek turned. _Pack_. _Pack_ is happening. Like it had been before; before the fire and before the world had ended.

He understands now how his mother must have felt, how his sister must have struggled. This feeling of devotion, hadn't he given it to them the same way these confused teenagers were giving to him now?

"I don't know what I'm doing," he ground out, pulling Erica and Boyd against his shoulders, fingers firm against the back of their necks. The blonde tumbled against him shamelessly, sighing and purring, while Boyd knelt and became steadily more relaxed- muscle group by muscle group. They don't comment. The admittance is enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Berica, stage one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No plot, here. Not today.

“Hi, Mom,” Erica said quietly into her old flip-phone, “Um… yeah. Yeah.”

Boyd watched her from his vantage point against Derek’s car; unwilling to let her out of sight after the trauma and pain of the last few nights. She sounded more like her old self when she was on the phone with her parents; more halting and unsure. It was sweet, though her sudden shyness seemed also to slip into a kind of fear- a walking-on-eggshells sort of trepidation in her voice.

She glanced over to him, smiled a tiny, nervous smile, and pulled a loose, limp curl over her shoulder. Fiddling with it between her dirty nails, she continued to mumble non-committally into the night. With her torn and bloodied clothes, knees tucked defensively together… her makeup smeared, and hair wild… She was still the loveliest person he had ever seen. He smiled, wide and gentle, and waved.

Everything was going to be okay; he had a bone-deep feeling over it. Some strange, unshakable peace had uncoiled in him while Derek held them, and he wanted to hold on to it forever. Confidence and protectiveness swam eagerly through him, and he _knew_ , just _knew_ , that everything would be okay.

Erica sighed deeply into her phone, “I’m with… I’m with Isaac. We’re thinking about getting pizza…”

Boyd flinched.

“Yeah, well, he was acquitted. And he’s a good person and a good friend. And Bo-” she stopped and took a deep breath, “And _believe_ me, I would know.”

A few, tense moments passed before she snapped the phone shut, slumping forward. “Oh, God.”

Boyd stood straight, took a step forward; “Are you okay?”

She shook her head, blonde hair tumbling across her neck and falling in front of her chest. It was ratty and a frizz haunted the strands. He crossed the lot in five large strides, and by the time he reached her, she was crying in quiet earnest. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

Boyd sank to the step where she sat huddled, arm snaking cautiously around her shoulders. “It’s… it’s okay. I understand.”

“It’s just- it’s _not_ okay,” she shuddered, reaching up with one hand to rub her eyes. Her fingertips came back stained with mascara. “I don’t want to lie to her, but I can’t handle fighting about-” she waved her hands around the both of them and the house- “ _this_ right now.”

He said nothing. Dim in the background, he could hear Isaac whispering to Derek, and Derek humming brief responses, all within the corpse of the Hale house; there were a handful of salvageables, and Derek meant to collect them before they left. Maybe not for the last time, but for as far as Derek had thrown the bone, they wouldn’t be back for a _long_ while, at least.

“You’re my best friend, Boyd,” she whispered, breathing more calmly. Leaning against his collar bones, she took a deep breath, “and my stupid family… they…”

It hung in the air, ugly. And it was painful, but not as painful as holding her and wishing, desperately, that there was more to be said for the two of them. Boyd settled for pressing his lips against her hair, squeezing her shoulders, and telling the truth.

“Everything is all right. I love you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving the Hale house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with 30% more verbal agreements.

Isaac followed Derek from room to room; there wasn’t much to see. Charring, breakage, gaps in toggles, stiles, and rails, matted insulation. Collapsed armoires and bed frames, hardly anything. But Derek sifted through it, almost carefully, while Isaac carried a trunk across the creaking floorboards. Moving from room to room, he could pick up the low, unhappy tone of Erica’s voice outside; he grimaced and shifted the old trunk- there was no part of him that didn’t want to tell her parents what-for. It was no wonder she had spent so much time at school, so much time away in any fashion she could manage, even with her condition.

“One more, then we’re going downstairs.”

“Okay,” Isaac murmured, following the alpha as he picked his way through the rubble of what Isaac began to realize must be Derek’s room. There was a collapsed bed frame against one wall, the remains of a desk, and so much ash. Pieces of the ceiling had fallen into the room, and when he craned his neck, Isaac saw stars.

Then, he sneezed- and it was _awful_ , because how _dare_ he, how dare he _sneeze_ in this coffin, in this sacred place?

Derek glanced his way, rising from a crouch near the shambles of a bookcase. In one hand, he gripped a smallish, grey ball. And he wasn’t frowning, or glaring, or approaching with menace; tentatively, Isaac loosed the tension in his shoulders, wondering if he would _ever_ lose the feeling of being under threat of attack of stronger men. 

“Is- is that a baseball?” he asked carefully, still feeling his shoulders trying to draw in, trying to cower.

Derek let out a _whuff_ of pleased, self-conscious air, letting the ball drop from one hand to another. “Yeah. It’s a… miracle this made it.” 

“I’ve read stories about really weird things not going up, like… bibles and portraits and marking in wood,” Isaac supplied. He looked down, thinking that he may have said too much.

And then, in a small way, Derek grins; as if in a fit of chagrin and peculiar amusement, letting his guard down in a terrifying way. “Let’s finish up.”

 

* * *

 

Passing Boyd and Erica on the steps, Derek kept his distance. There was a pervasive sadness around them, two distinct flavours, and he wanted to give them space. Boyd was wrapped protectively around the blonde girl, almost rocking. Neither were speaking.

But they both glanced up at him while he unlocked the trunk of the car; there was sadness, but it was tempered by hopefulness. And they were waiting. Erica gave a small wave, then stood, gently disentangling from Boyd. He let her go, hands jamming into his pockets as he followed suit.

With the trunk secure, Isaac closed the back end of Derek's car. He felt... apprehensive. If the alpha left the house, and if he wasn't planning on going back to the depot, then where? And where would Isaac go if he couldn't go back home, himself? Rather, there was nothing stopping him, he certainly had a key- but the last time he had set foot in his childhood home, his throat had gone strangled with demons of memory. The quiet emptiness had crushed in around him. Before he knew it, he was crying over his duffel bag, unable to rouse himself for longer than he cared to admit. Sounds in the street had startled him, and it took what was left of his willpower to finish stuffing a duffel bag with his favorite clothing, a couple of books, and toiletries.

He was supposed to be staying with friends; he had a meeting with child services in a couple of weeks. Before it had run out of time, his phone had exploded with numbers he didn't recognize. _Nothing_ was stable, _nothing_ made sense, and now Derek was... going wherever Derek was going.

He shuddered and moved to stand by Boyd and Erica; Boyd looked at him, frowned, and reached out to touch his shoulder. The blonde leaned into it, and Boyd wholesale pulled him close, keeping him under his arm.

He'd had no idea he was trembling.

“So what now?” Erica threw out, arms crossed over her chest. It wasn't very late, not yet, but the moon was rising steadily. Derek wrenched his gaze from the sky and took a deep breath. He had to take care of these three. They were all he had.

“You can go home to your own families,” he pointedly ignored their collective stiffening, “or you can all get in... and we'll see where the Camaro takes us.”

Erica's eyes went wide and her mouth twitched. A moment later, she was throwing herself into the back seat of the car, buckling in as if it was a race to keep from being sent home. As though, if she were speedy enough, she would never have to go back. Her stare at Boyd is as intense as a laser, piercing, expectant.

“Where is the Camaro taking us?” Boyd asked, low and letting Isaac out from under his arm. Isaac, eyes fixed on his feet, slunk to the car, carefully pulling the handle of the passenger seat. He glanced at Derek, who gave no indication of trouble, and slid in. Boyd could see Erica leaning forward, hand on the other blonde's shoulder.

“I'm going to-” Derek's shoulders rolled backward, “I'm going to check into one of the monthly suites at the Holiday Inn. The one at the top of town, by the freeway. They already have a room reserved for me.”

“And what about us? We're welcome there?”

The tone of suspended hope in Boyd's voice was a cutting, tearing thing across Derek's chest. Here was a young man clearly accustomed to disappointment. A young man who clearly didn't want to go home any more than his packmates.

“Completely,” Derek intoned, gesturing to the car before turning. Turning his back on what was more frightening and unreal than anything that had happened over the last few weeks, but it made sense. It felt right.

He managed to say, without saying it, that he trusted the teen, that he was not afraid of betrayal. That they were pack. He was buckling in as Boyd shut the back seat door, taking another deep breath and sensing that _good feeling_ that happened when they were all together, cozy and close. Derek watched Boyd in the rear-view mirror until he was noticed, and gave a small, companionable smile. It felt strange on his face, but the careful grin he received in return was worth it.

He started the car, patted Isaac's knee, and drove down the hill, forgetting to look back at the crumbling Hale house, and not minding when he finally realized.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The monthly pack meeting assembles.  
> Berica, stage two. Scissac, stage one.  
> Sterek, stage one half.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, really, I think Erica would do this.

They all have had a system, a rhythm. Some regularity that has kept them close, within reach, and in a way, safe. Though it is true that their safety is at all times threatened, they held on to the safety net of their companionship, and the more they held- the more tightly and desperately- they better it became, the stronger.

It was the first Saturday of the month; Erica arrived first, though by virtue of living on Derek's suite couch, Isaac had her beat on a technicality. She grasped him in a quick hug, kissing his cheek. She was already tugging herself out of a slim-fit tee shirt, toeing off her shoes, and yet staying easily upright. That was her rhythm. Head up, be let in, strip.

“Pick for me,” she breathed, careless. Isaac pawed through the closet, breathing deeply for Derek's signature smell. There were still a couple of shirts that smelled like Erica. He grabbed one that didn't, an odd, grey button-up, and tossed it to her.

Her bra was of a high-quality, no doubt stolen from a Victoria's Secret, and it disappeared beneath the over-long shirt in an instant. It was the pattern, though, that had arrested him.

“Your bra reminds me of something,” he said quietly, sitting on the end of the bed. “I can't quite think of what.”

She sat beside him, feeling more comfortable than she had all day, all week, in her alpha's clothing, “And that's how I know which part of the forest you like to bark at trees in.”

He flushed and looked down, grinning, “I guess. How's Boyd?”

Of all of them, Boyd spent the most time at his actual home, becoming something of a rock star to his parents, though he maintained his distance. The subject change threw Erica, and her heart skipped. She missed him between classes, before school and after, and it perturbed her how often her memories flashed to their terrifying night in the woods, being chased. It wasn't the chasing- it was the hand-holding. And the way he had put himself down for her, tried to keep her safe.

She bit her lip, “We haven't gotten to see each other much, since my doctor has me under pretty strict surveillance. My parents are flipping out, finally... It took them long enough to realize I wasn't sick anymore, but...”

“But there's no explaining it.”

“And Boyd...” she grit her teeth, “And Boyd isn't _welcome_ in my house.”

Isaac sighed at her snarl, reaching out to pull her against his chest. “I'm so sorry.”

“I can't... I can't understand it, it makes me so _angry._ ”

There was a creaking, then, down a floor and approaching. Voices mingling, both irritated.

“Well, _Scott's_ here,” Erica purred, pushing away from Isaac and scrunching her nose.

Isaac blanched, stomach suddenly tight, “Yeah, well, _Stiles_ is here, too, so...”

“Whatever,” Erica laughed, grabbing one of Derek's pillows and slamming it against the back of Isaac's head. It dropped; he hadn't tried to stop her. She sauntered to the door and poked out her head. The two teens were already rounding the corner, no doubt having taken the stairs. She gave a little wave and left the door ajar.

“Scott, I really don't know.”

“Well, neither do I!” the werewolf hissed back, “It just seems like a good idea at this point. Even Jackson and Lydia are involved now.”

“They're not even going to _be_ here today.”

“Lydia's parents have a thing. Jackson went with- look, it doesn't matter!” Their conversation stalled in the hallway, their voices low but intense.

“It _does_ matter! Shit's hitting the fan all over town and you're dragging me to a _werewolf slumber party_ with Derek-I'm-So-Buff-Hale, and acting like everything is just fine! Since when do you even run in his pack? I thought you- with Derek- and, the alpha thing-”

“Stiles! _Stiles!_ ” Scott huffed, “I know, _I know_ , but things have changed. The last two months... I keep trying to tell you, but you won't believe me.”

Isaac and Erica perched on Derek's bed, Erica with her knees up to her chest; they knocked their heads together in amusement, listening and waiting.

“Why do like Derek so much now, anyway?” Stiles groaned, his footsteps rapidly reaching the door to the suite.

“Why do you still hate him so much?” Scott matched his best friend's tone with impatience. “He's actually done a _lot_ for us, since that night with- with Grandpa Argent- you know? Things have changed. It feels... better. Like...”

Stiles sighed, averting his eyes at the word _feels_ , “Like what?”

Scott grinned, “Like we're connected. A pack. Like family.”

“Oh, come on!” Stiles wailed, following him into the suite with his arms wheeling in agitation.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack meeting commences. It is less than successful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe me if I told you this was what constituted a plot right now?

Erica was still sitting beside Isaac when Boyd wandered in behind Derek; she was doing what she always did, curling on the foot of the king-size in a pose halfway between pin-up and halfway between lost little girl. Isaac's head was on her shoulder, and she was back in one of Derek's shirts, like always.

He wanted to hold onto the jealousy, but it melted- it always melted- at the joint look of comfortable excitement in the look he receives from both of them. Isaac isn't trying anything, _wouldn't_. Boyd smiled back at their twin blue eyes, dropping into the spot on Erica's open side.

It was heartening when she leaned in, situating herself firmly under his arm.

Isaac smirked at him from Erica's shoulder before leaning away, giving him full access. It was impossible not to love Isaac; regardless of what persona he was wearing or what trouble he attracted to himself. Boyd squeezed Erica close and _willed_ her to understand why he was doing it. _Willed_ her to understand that beyond school, and the woods, and pack meetings, and the infant solidarity under Derek, that she was _special_ to him. That there was a feeling in him, for her, that wasn't going to go away.

She scooted closer, and he dared to hope.

Across the way, on the suite couch, Scott and Stiles sat, both watching Derek. Derek watched them back for a minute before grunting, “Thank you for coming, Stiles.”

Stiles huffed and crossed his arms, glaring at Scott when he all he got for his discomfiture was his best friend's elbow in his ribs. Derek rolled his left shoulder and stalked to the windows, drawing the curtains shut in a series of awkward jerks. The low-light seemed to signal a call for sobriety, and the five teens cease their poking, prodding, and eye-catching. Their alpha lowered himself into the wood chair by the tiny table, letting out a tense breath and studiously avoiding Stiles' skeptical stare.

“I thought we would start by catching Stiles up on anything he might be missing.”

“How about, _why am I here?_ ”

“Stiles! Seriously!” Scott whined, turning on the couch to fully face the other boy. “You know why.”

Scruffing his face violently, Stiles sighed and let his shoulders out of their rock-hard tension. “Fine. Sorry. I'm sorry. Let's just get on with it.”

“Sure,” Derek said, his tone unusually kind. “I'm sure Scott has filled you in on most of the facts; we're having a... rash of attacks. There's no discernible trail; the victims are all left dead, or near dead, with no memory of what happened to them.”

“Those that survive are dangerously anemic afterward, and those that don't make it...” Stiles supplied, “are drained completely of blood. So tell me this isn't vampires, dude, because I can't handle that, I really can't.”

“There's no such thing,” Derek grimaced, though the expressions of incredulity that swept the room gave him pause. “No such thing as has been _observed_ by hundreds of years of research by... scholars.”

“Scholars.” Stiles' eyebrows lifted with dubious curiosity.

Derek shrugged. “Let's focus on that none of these victims exhibit the typical bite marks of a vampire, that these haven't been werewolf attacks, but that whatever is _doing_ it, isn't human.”

With a heave, Scott left the couch and wandered into Derek's kitchenette; pulling bread from a cupboard he began, “And we know it's not human because the _smell_. At the very least, it's a witch. But that's as close to human as it could possibly be. We know it's supernatural because of the strength needed to... carry out the deed... and the deed, itself.”

He carried a sandwich from the far side of the suite and settled back in by Stiles, who leaned over to take a bite out of it while Scott pulled in his legs. Stiles chewed while he mumbled, “What kind of critter needs that much blood?”

“Lydia combed through her copy of the bestiary. She couldn't find anything that fit the bill, but there does seem to be another possibility,” Derek's elbows were balanced on his knees, and Stiles was surprised by how at ease the alpha seemed to be, in spite of all the bad blood he had endured. Though he paused often and seemed self-conscious about it, he _did_ seem less uncomfortable overall. And the way his three betas gazed at him with trust and respect- well, _that_ was a one-eighty.

Scott hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said things had changed.

And, glancing at the former omega, Stiles was vaguely surprised to see a similar look of willing submission in Scott's features. He turned to gaze back at Derek, whose knee bounced rhythmically to a beat of agitation. “There are many spells and rituals that can require blood, so it seems likely that it's a witch, _but..._ ”

“But?”

“ _But_ , we're in a compact with the witches in this area, and there's no trace of smell or aura linking the handiwork to any one of them. The covens are clean. And they promised to inform us if _they_ found anything.”

“And no one's moved into the area recently?”

Derek shook his head. Scott shook his, too.

“Well, hell.”

The group sat in silence for a time, sounds from the outside world percolating inward; cars drifting by on the freeway, doors opening and closing, distant chatter. A maid-cart rolling down the hall. Scott ate his sandwich and Stiles pretended not to be shocked by the lack of formality. Isaac was watching Scott eat, Derek was staring into the middle distance, and the Boyd-Erica combo was slowly sinking into Derek's bed, presumably too cool for the discussion. Stiles rubbed his hand over the back of his head, enjoying the familiar, bristly feel. It helped him think.

“And there hasn't been a discernible pattern? No repeated locations?" 

“The only pattern is that the attacks happen after dark, to people who are traveling alone. Past that... We're at an impasse. We can't be everywhere at once, and these victims- they're not screaming. So there's no trying to listen for them,” Derek's eyebrows drew close in a strangely intellectual frown, and Stiles reeled.

The _things_ he did for Scott.

“Okay. So that's everything, then. We have no idea where or when it will strike next, it's _probably_ not a vampire, and _probably_ not a witch, and _probably_ no creature listed in the bestiary, and it knows how to cover its tracks.”

Derek nodded.

Isaac seemed to sense something and pulled himself away from the bed with what appeared to be monumental effort. He slunk to Derek's side, pooling at the alpha's feet. To Stiles' immense surprise, Derek ignored him except to reach out and cup the beta's skull, fingers lodging through Isaac's curls in a show of gentleness that had Stiles absolutely thunderstruck.

He glanced at Scott, but Scott was watching Isaac, too, and gave Stiles no indication that there was anything weird about this. With a small, confused laugh, he tipped his head back to the ceiling and gave up on trying to understand what the _hell_ had happened to the pack of angry, bitter teens with a common distaste for the last Hale standing.

“So what's the plan, then?” he charged on, trying to clear his amazement.

For the first time in a half hour, Derek leveled his gaze at the lone non-wolf in the room, “I don't know. I'm worried that patrolling isn't enough. It hasn't been so far."

Stiles swallowed, vaguely overwhelmed by the strange hazel of Derek's eyes. “I- I see. Okay.

Scott leaned back, unaware of the sudden, devastated tension in the air. “Boyd and I have been canvassing the streets like crazy. It's never anybody in the woods. Erica and Isaac have been out almost every night- their hearing is even better- but no dice. And Jackson and Lydia have been doing what they can, but... well, their parents are actually expecting them most of the time. This army is too small.”

Stiles watched as Isaac curled in more tightly against the chair and Derek's stilled leg; he looked smaller than he was, cheek on his alpha's thigh. He was staring off into nothing, and like Erica and Boyd, said nothing. Perhaps, Stiles wondered, out of respect, or perhaps out of exhaustion.

“Okay. Well... if that's all,” he rocked to his feet, glancing first and Derek and then to Scott. “I have to head home, but... I'll see what I can see. Look up some stuff, I guess. If I can. I don't know what to tell you.”

Scott returned his look with a heated look of his own, and Stiles went on, “But like I told Scott, I'll... do what I can for you guys.”

What Scott had asked for was for Stiles to join the group, to be a part of it, but... baby steps. It didn't help that the other three betas seemed disinterested at the very notion of Stiles having shown up, even Erica. But Scott had wanted him there, conditional to his own continued loyalty and comfort, and Derek had been supportive. The alpha had been stiff, but gave in readily enough, citing that the pack was better off trying to encompass more members.

Now it was just a matter of Stiles allowing himself to be encompassed, and the rest of the pack showing some damn interest in encompassing. Scott frowned, feeling petulant about the whole thing, and stood as well. “I gotta go home, too, so...”

“I'll take you,” Stiles coughed, suddenly weirded out by the drowsy, desolate juju of the room.

He had his hand on the knob, Scott at his elbow, when he heard Derek mumble, “Call us if you need anything. Or think of anything. We could use your... insight.”

And then a long pause while Stiles pulled open the door, washing the room in a brief, brighter light, followed by Derek's stiff, “Be safe.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exposition is what we aim for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not that you should care.

 

Isaac wasn't certain he had _ever_ seen Erica so completely ragged; she whimpered and sniffled and struggled out of her tight blouse and ridiculous skirt while he watched, biting his lip in concern. “I'm so glad you're here,” she choked out, wiping her nose on the sleeve of a dark henley- courtesy of Derek's closet.

“I'm always here,” he murmured, though it was meant more for her _benefit_ that he was there, rather than that he rarely left the suite except to go to school. Derek's suite was the nest. He only ever felt safe when he was holed up there. “I... Erica, tell me what _happened._ ”

She stopped in mid-motion, slumped on the floor with her fingers pulling on a pair of overlarge socks- courtesy still of Derek's closet. Isaac watched as her face crumpled in misery, further wrecking her gorgeous, carefully applied make-up. Lower lip trembling, she jerked her head to indicate the large duffel and backpack with which she had arrived; “They kicked me out. My parents. They said I could come back for the rest of my stuff on Sunday, but after that...”

And then, the tears took full hold and she was a small, leggy mess on the floor. Her packmate rushed in, pouring himself over her, as if he could blanket her from the world; arms tight around her shoulders, he pushed his forehead to her neck. “I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry...”

“I, I t-told them about B-B-” she heaved, clawing at Isaac's strong, willowy arms, “I t-told them-”

“Oh, my god,” he breathed, rocking her in a small, careful pattern, “I can't believe it. I'm so, so sorry.”

She hiccuped and grimaced, chest tight; her view of her bare legs warbled as tears blurred over her eyes. “It's not _f-fair_ ,” she wailed, grabbing onto his arms and holding herself as tightly as she could. And where there was once confusion, once a feeling of not being sure what she wanted, there came an absolute, abject clarity: She wished it were Boyd holding her. Wished that Boyd was there, right now, immediately. Erica had never known anything with more conviction. Trying to calm down, she pushed against her packmate and whispered, “It's t-true. I mean, y-you're my best friend, too, but when Derek turned Boyd, he... we _clicked_ , you know? And I started wondering... But he can be hard to read sometimes-”

Isaac laughed, a short, startling little chuckle, and said, “Are you serious? You- everyone knows Boyd...”

She stiffened, but he pulled her more tightly to his chest and finished, “Everyone knows Boyd has been in love with you from day one.”

Erica smiled, face wet and hair mussed, but it was a genuine, happy smile. Almost gleeful. She let herself be rocked and concentrated on breathing, on what she would say to Derek when he got back from working. On what she would say to Boyd.

And Isaac squeezed her, saying, “And your parents can go fuck themselves.”  
  
  


* * *

 

Two weeks after Derek had returned the mid-scale hotel and found Boyd and Isaac wrapped around a miserable Erica, chaos struck in the worst way.

It had been a _long_ day to begin with; worrisome and harrowing in a low, non-threatening sort of way, and the alpha was looking forward to lounging with the teens until the kinks in his back subsided. Derek rolled his shoulders as he pulled himself up the three flights of stairs to their suite. _Theirs_ because he didn't think of it as _his._ It was for the pack. There was money enough for it, especially with winter creeping close and the feeling of desolate impropriety that came with staying at the house in the woods. There was, too, a feeling that taking a break from its drafty creaking and inescapable waft of burning might be for the best. The sting of it was feeling he was running away, though the appreciative, borderline adoring looks he received from his steadily-warming betas softened that sting. And what guilt there was for using the life insurance money, well- that was also pushed aside like so much debris.

And, he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy having the newly cemented pack around all the time. The suite smelled eternally of Isaac, who hardly left except to go to school. It was an odd day when Derek didn't find the tall young man hunched at the table nook, scribbling over homework while something tasty simmered on the kitchenette-sized stove. It was usually pleasantly cool, not quite cold, while Isaac seemed to live in a throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders while he worked.

It was homey. And Derek _loved_ that. Erica was there, _always_ wearing his clothes, with or without pants and always without shame. He would never say so, but he thought she looked adorable, padding around in his socks and stirring Isaac's clever stews. Having her smell on him at work never ceased to give him a moment of peace in the middle of his day. And having her there in the suite, tucked against one wall on the couch- well, that was another comfort. Boyd, in all his seriousness and calm, was there for Erica as much as he was for Isaac and Derek and their meetings, and it made a kind of sense that Derek had never before fully appreciated. Scott had been absorbed, willingly, after his trust and respect had been _earned_. Nothing felt better than that. And Stiles- well, Stiles was coming along fine. All things considered.

And on this day, all of that was in a ruin.

The mounting feeling of dread.

The frenzied search.

The suite torn apart.

The _town_ torn apart.

And Stiles nowhere to be found.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where I pretend to wrap everything up. Features badass Allison and an attempt at including the whole pack. But mostly Allison being a badass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a witch in this chapter and I want you to know she is black, so please visualize her as a woman of color.

 

He's going to die.

He's lost too much blood already.  
  


* * *

 

 

The sun was setting; Derek's shirt, the dark blue henley, was darker still with sweat, and grime. He had just come from junkyard. That lead had gone cold fast, and now, standing in the middle of town with Scott, he was truly beginning to panic.

“Where have we not looked? Where else?” Scott's voice was high with anxiety, his eyes amber and his fingers taut with talons. Isaac moved closer, chin down. They headed down a side street, aimlessly, hoping somehow to catch a scent, a feeling, the sound of Stiles' frenetic heartbeat. But there was nothing.  
  


* * *

 

 

“I am _shocked_ you have enough energy to sass me, young man,” the shadow chuckled.

“Yeah, well-”

It wiped its hands on a towel someone probably bought at Target. Quick drying. Striped. Stiles blinked. The world tilted just a little, but he breathed through it. There was a cut above his eye, passing its way through his eyebrow. “-I'm incorrigible.”

Another chuckle. The basement- or warehouse, or movie set, or alternate dimension, _wherever_ the fuck they were- had a tiny window with two little bars up along the far wall, and the little last bit of light that filtered in was highlighting all the bits of dust and motes that floated aimlessly through the air. Stiles thought it was the most beautiful, hideous thing he'd ever watched. He thought it was hilarious, too. Dust motes.

The last thing he'd see before he died. Because- let's face it- the shadow was right. He would not be making it out of here.

“I hope I tasted good. You know I kind of worried,” the teenager moved once, weakly, against the chains, “I take a lot of different pills. And I'm anemic. Drink a _lot_ of Redbull.”

He dragged the 'o' in 'lot' into a long, unbroken kind of sigh. He was tired. Everything hurt. Everywhere. There were maybe twenty major cuts on his body, and at least another ten minor ones. Most of the bleeding had stopped, but a few wounds wept a slow miserable carmine. “I just don't, you know, see the r-reason for all the knife- this knife- knife situation.”

Oh, god, it was getting dark.

“You don't think you deserved it? You don't think every slice was _earned_? After everything you and your ridiculous friends put me through. I nearly died, you pernicious little twit. And that Scott McCall- well, he earned it, don't you think? I'm certainly not going to hurt Allison. But his little friend?”

The shadow came out, into the last light, into the dust motes, and Stiles tensed. When he could _see_ him, he was more terrifying. Because once he could be seen again, Gerard Argent was real.  
  


* * *

 

 

Scott was hyperventilating, or close to it. Isaac was holding his arm and his shoulder, trying to pour some semblance of ease past the tense borders of his skin. It wasn't working. He wanted to ask Erica or Boyd for help, but they were watching Derek and wouldn't meet his eye.

Derek looked away from his small pack, grounded himself one last time, desperate and ready to do anything. The witch took his hand; it was still bleeding. “Are you ready?”

Allison pressed her cheek to Scott's free shoulder, holding her breath. Scott had volunteered, but the witch had said, “You're too close and you're not strong enough.”

“I'm running out of time,” Derek grit out, waiting for the last bit of pain. He would do anything. Stiles was pack. Stiles was _important._ If he could have saved anyone before this moment- if there had been _leads_ \- he'd be in this exact position, without hesitation. But for Stiles it was different. Being bound to a stranger- he would endure. Being able to show Stiles that he was family- that was another ballgame entirely.

As long as they got to him in time.  
  


* * *

 

 

He wanted to scream, but all that came out was a dull whine. He felt pathetic. If it would only _end_. He was so close to begging for death; Gerard had made it so fast for all the other victims. Taken their blood clean and fast. Stiles felt like he was gagging on air, eyes heavy, hands and feet numb. Maybe he didn't have hands and feet anymore. Maybe Argent had taken them. With a snort, he started giggling, straining with what little left of himself there was.

Gerard glared at him, paused from licking at the knife he'd been using to nick little cuts into Stiles' knees. It was the grossest thing in the entire world to watch. Stiles giggled harder.

“What?”

“You couldn't be a werewolf s-so you became a vampire. If this doesn't work- doesn't work out, will you be a fair- a tooth fairy?”

“Whelp. You'll die here and you make jokes.”

“Yeah.” He didn't say any more; couldn't. The stinging in his legs was fading in and out, and so was his eyesight. There were no more dust motes. Finally her murmured, “Don't you have enough-nough blood for what're... doing?”

“I will soon. You're the last. I may even share my gifts with my dear Allison, if her loyalties prove practical. Blood and a spell, young man. A shockingly simple procedure. You should feel honored.” Gerard moved across the room in three quick strides, and when he came back out of the shadow he was holding the decanter of Stiles' blood.

The decanter and a very, very large knife.  
  


* * *

 

 

For a fraction of a second, Derek felt an incredible wash of pain over the whole of his body, like slices of himself were being ripped away. The witch backed away from him, her fair hair tumbling over her shoulder as she narrowly avoided his claws. “It'll fade!” she snapped, “But you'd better hurry while the connection is fresh.”

Through the red wash over his eyes, the alpha shook himself and tried to sense what he'd been promised would be like a thread to his target.

It was more like a boat cord.

It was so strong and so thick, it could have anchored the Titanic, if it were a physical thing. More significantly, it was leading away from the witch's shop and into the city. Boyd and Erica were already behind him, but as soon as he started running, Isaac and Scott shifted and leapt along, with Jackson not far behind.

Allison glanced at the witch who only nodded and said, “Make sure he remembers. The alpha owes me.”

The archer nodded back and grabbed Lydia's hand, bolting for her car.  
  


* * *

 

 

Chaos did not begin to describe.

Stiles was aware, in a dim way, through the erratic scattering of dust motes in the last light, as he died, that something was happening. Something new and loud and flashing and too fast. He wasn't sure. He was bleeding out.

He was bleeding out but Scott was there and if that wasn't a great thing to have before heaven or hell or rebirth or oblivion, then what was? Scott's hands around his neck, trying to slow the bleeding. Derek's voice? Screaming?

Being picked up. Dark darker darkest.

His eyes wouldn't open. He didn't even hurt anymore. He just wondered, a little bit, why he could still hear Derek, so far away, so loud, when he couldn't hear Scott right there, carrying him out.  
  


* * *

 

 

He only held back long enough for Allison to arrive. The desire to murder and maim Gerard Argent was so strong he had Boyd and Erica stand between him and the monster while Jackson kept the old vulture cornered. They held their ground in relative quiet; Argent was talking, Derek didn't care. He saw was the metal sheet table and its knives, the two freezers, and the chair he'd tied Stiles to. He didn't want to know. He just wanted to destroy, and he couldn't do that until Allison arrived.

Derek paced. He could feel the boat cord between himself and Stiles like a rubber band going tighter and more fraught. As though it were vibrating. He's understood the pain, then, the moment he saw Stiles bleeding in Argent's torture chamber, hidden with wards and black magic beneath the old bed and breakfast just outside of town. All of the slashes and cuts on Stiles' body, for a moment, had been Derek's. His tiny deaths. Perhaps his final death.

He could feel his heart seize around the notion, but as stretched and tight as the cord felt, the feeling hadn't snapped, so there had to be a chance.

Allison came bounding down the stairs while Jackson growled at Argent to stay put. Gerard coughed, “Allison!”

It was perhaps a relieved call, in that he saw a cavalry in his grand daughter, perhaps also an entreatment. Her long legs brought her down three more stairs and she paused. The room was torn apart, the air coppery. She swallowed down the desire to retch. Gerard made a scrabbling dart to the side, toward her, and Jackson shoved him back.

Derek's blood was boiling. “It was him. He opened the Arcane. All the blood was for an _imortalis_ spell. It's all here. In those freezers.”

Allison's fingers twitched. “Where's Stiles?”

“Scott took him to the hospital. He was- He-”

Isaac went up close to Derek and grabbed his arm before addressing Allison, “He was cut up real badly. Really... really badly.”

“That answers my second question,” she mumbled, descending the rest of the way into the basement. She thought she could feel the wards as she passed, making her feel a little sleepy, a little lost. “So my third question is... Did you do this? Did you really do this?”

Gerard stood straighter, gazing at the young woman over Jackson's arm and the blood-covered chair. “Allison-”

It was there in his tone. It was an admittance and no apology, just the 'yes' she knew she would hear. She reached behind her back and drew an arrow. Notched it. Fired.  
  


* * *

 

 

The first person Stiles saw was Scott's mom, running her hand down his face and whispering something. Then, his dad. After that, Scott. Everything hurt, but he didn't think he was dead. He _did_ have a strange, tenuous feeling tugging at his heart, pulling him somewhere, though he wasn't sure where.

Just. He isn't dead?

How?

John and Scott were both crying, hugging him, and only Melissa was holding it together, going to stand in the doorway and let the men maul him with affection. Her eyes were shining. And then he could see Erica sidling into the room, looking weirdly shy. But then she was hugging him too. He wasn't sure what to feel. He couldn't work his throat. Couldn't feel if he was smiling or crying, too. He just felt numb, and everything hurt.

The pull was still there, and he almost asked Scott, but Derek walked in, and for a moment- one sharp, startling moment- all the pain he was in disappeared.

Not in a metaphorical 'I forgot' or 'the morphine kicked in' kind of way, Stiles sensed. In a literal, 'Derek walked in and the pain went away.'

They stared at one another; and then, Derek was gone.

And somehow... he was alive.

Dust motes and agony and all.

 


End file.
